


Angel No More

by days4daisy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: And All The Whump That Comes With It, Angel/Demon Sex, Episode: s05ep21 Two Minutes to Midnight, First Time, Hand Jobs, Human Castiel, Injured Castiel, M/M, Season/Series 05, Tumblr Prompt, references canonical character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-24
Updated: 2015-05-24
Packaged: 2018-03-31 22:57:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3996280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/pseuds/days4daisy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel decides that it will feel good if Crowley takes him. It will be sinful and wrong, but what does Castiel care? He has already been cast out. Doomed to whatever fate awaits a fallen angel in death. Nothing matters anymore. </p>
<p>“Touch me,” Castiel says.</p>
<p>--<br/>Takes place during 05x21 - "Two Minutes to Midnight"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Angel No More

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this anon Tumblr Ask:
> 
> _I think for fluffy Crowstiel, s05 is the way to go? The world is ending, but well, the world always seem to be in danger, and at least there's no grudge between them? Cas is angel on the run from Heaven, Crowley is a demon on the run from Hell. Literary symmetry! Why weren't their dynamic exploited further on the show? And Cas would be running hot and cold at this period, still not getting human emotion, but getting worn by constant exposure :)_
> 
> Agree with this! There was a lot left unexplored in the Cas/Crowley relationship in Season 5. Makes sense, there was so much going on in that season. But I wish there was a little more airtime between these two. 
> 
> I failed at the fluff part, as always ^^; Whump and Sex, hooray!

Castiel learned to treat his own wounds at the hospital in Louisiana. His nurse was kind and patient with him. She explained everything as she dressed his injuries. Like how to disinfect and bandage. The importance of rest, and of staying out of trouble. 

He understood her instructions on a big picture level. But the application has proven a time-consuming frustration.

Castiel could have cured these wounds with a blink as an angel. But his grace is gone, and the pain lingers. This ache has begun to wear on his mortal body.  

Castiel cannot afford weakness. It is too close to the end. 

Castiel applies salve to his chest scars with caution. 

He thinks of the Garrison. As a soldier, he sensed the pain of his ailing siblings. He could ease their suffering with a stroke of grace. Do they feel Castiel’s pain in this human form? 

He hopes they do not. The alternative is worse - that his kin feel his anguish, but none find him worthy of aid. Abandoned for good. Angel no more.

Let them hide, Castiel thinks. It is they who are wrong, and they will see it before the end. The Apocalypse will be stopped by a fallen angel, two human boys, and an old cripple. They do not need Heaven, the Garrison, or God Himself.

Castiel looks around the empty bedroom. Anger, he realizes. Desperation. So many human feelings. All, so strange. 

“Hello, duck." Castiel spins around.

The demon leans against his closed door. “Easy,” Crowley says. “I’m just here to chat. We’re partners in this ordeal, after all. It’s high time we get to know one another.”

Castiel holds his head higher. He cannot hide scars on his body. But he can still muster pride in the presence of this abomination. 

Crowley’s tongue drags across his lower lip.  

Castiel frowns. This is not the reaction he expected. When he flares before demons, they should cower. But Crowley's stare burns hot on his skin.

"We are not partners,” Castiel grumbles.

Crowley chuckles. “Come now, Cas.” The nickname slides off his tongue like honey. “Who would you rather align yourself with? A salesman like myself, or your devil of a brother?”

At the mention of Lucifer, Castiel’s expression darkens.

“I’m here to help,” Crowley continues, “in case that was not clear.”

“You stole the soul of Bobby Singer,” Castiel accuses.

Crowley shrugs. “Borrowed it, love. I intend to return it.” 

Castiel glowers. He does not buy this.

Crowley rolls his eyes. “Admit it, sweetheart. I have the most to lose out of this gamble, wouldn’t you say? If we fail, Dean Winchester gets a one-way ticket upstairs. Righteous man and all. Robert Singer, too. If the holder of his contract is dead, it becomes void. Bobby will follow Dean to that merry circus in the sky.”

Castiel should not speak with this devil at all, let alone entertain his ideas. 

But, “Sam,” springs from his tongue on instinct.

Crowley pauses. “Moose may have a difficult time of things… But, if we fail and Lucifer prevails, I would imagine Sam will receive some reward for his service.

“Your case is questionable, Cas,” he continues. “But you are a feathered friend to the Almighty. You might be able to swing by with some Penance. Earn back your wings with a few Hail Marys, yeah?

"What is there for me, darling? A black hole, if I’m lucky. Purgatory, if I’m not.” Crowley cocks his head. “My risk is vast. A little respect is in order.”

Crowley is a true demon, selfish and petulant. Castiel does not agree with these single-minded assessments. The dismissal of his friends' risks raises Castiel's ire.  

But he cannot ignore Crowley’s gamble. Crowley knows that Lucifer will not tolerate traitors. That Crowley still lives betrays Lucifer’s rush to complete his mission. When the Morning Star is finished, that will be the end of the Crossroads King. And the rest of them, likely.

He tenses when Crowley strolls forward. The demon’s eyes travel the map of scratches on his skin. 

“You’ve felt pain, I’m sure, but never like this.” Crowley’s gaze flicks upward. “Do they hurt, angel?”

“No,” Castiel replies. A lie. He falters. “I feel discomfort. But this human medicine helps. I must apply the rest. Leave me to it.”

Crowley does not leave. He steps into Castiel’s personal space. ...Personal space. Castiel understands the concept now.

A memory appears in Castiel's mind, uninvited but vivid. He sees Crowley beneath a highway overpass. Hands balled in a man's jacket. Sealing their deal with a kiss. 

His widened eyes draw Crowley’s interest. “These _discomforts_ stretch to your back, love. Would you like me to dress them for you?”

“I can-”

“No,” Crowley cuts in. “You cannot. Humans are limited by arm length and angles.” He raises a brow. “Let me be of service, darling. As one enemy of Satan to another.”

Castiel frowns. “Why do you keep calling me these names?”

Crowley grabs the salve and the bandages from Castiel. Castiel did not give him permission to do so. But does not take them back.  

“I speak kindly to all I find interesting,” Crowley replies. He steps around to Castiel’s back. Castiel feels Crowley's breaths between his shoulders. “And I find you quite interesting, Cas.”

Castiel itches for his lost grace. With the power of Heaven, Crowley would not dare to toy with him this way.  But Castiel is empty and vulnerable. 

When Crowley touches his back, the ache of his scars draws a hiss. “Easy, pet,” Crowley murmurs.

Castiel glares over his shoulder, “I’m not-“

“My pet, I know. It’s an expression, Castiel. Though…” Crowley’s mouth tips upward. “Were you willing to entertain the idea, I would not be opposed.”

Castiel frowns. First, at the sentiment. Second, at his own lack of argument. He stays still and silent beneath Crowley’s hands.  

The demon applies the salve to a scratch low on his back. But his fingers stray lower still, ghosting against his spine.

Castiel stiffens. Something strange and warm shoots through him.

“Did that hurt, love?”

“No,” Castiel mumbles. 

“Are you sure? You’re shaking.” Crowley sounds so sure of himself. Powerful in his confidence. 

Castiel is angry, but not at this creature. He is angry at his Father. 

Castiel is here because he was deemed unworthy. Cast out by a God who does not care that the world is about to end. Why is Castiel aligned with a demon of the crossroads? Why does he feel closer to Crowley in this moment than to his own Father?

Crowley moves closer. Castiel smells the spice he wears. 

He opens his mouth and breathes between his lips. Castiel needs to be free of this scent. It is doing something to him. Making him feel unbalanced. A bead of sweat trickles down the back of his neck.

Castiel thinks again of Crowley and that man. 

Castiel understands sex. Its reproductive function, and its more carnal practice. Until now, Castiel has been bored by it. Sex is repetitive. The faces change, but the act remains the same. Different positions, different relationships, but always with the same goal. No mystery.

He knows all of this. So what is this feeling?

Castiel sucks in a breath. Something swells in his belly, suspiciously like hunger. But Castiel has already eaten. He must now, to maintain his human energy. 

It cannot be hunger, then. Can it?

“You picked a lovely vessel, Castiel,” Crowley says. Castiel feels the demon's nose in his hair. Crowley collects the drop of sweat from his neck with his tongue.

_Get out._  The words hover on Castiel’s lips. When Castiel is strong again, he will end Crowley for this insolence. No, he will end his entire race. Crowley will beg for Lucifer's return when Castiel is done with him.

Castiel groans, soft and uncertain. 

Crowley’s mouth curls against Castiel’s skin. "Shh, Cas," he murmurs. His arm winds around Castiel's waist. “This is pleasure, not pain. I will not hurt you. Would not hurt something so sweet to my taste.”

“You’re a demon,” Castiel grits. He reaches for something, anything.

“I’m your ally, Castiel.” Crowley slides gentle fingers down Castiel’s stomach. 

Unbidden, a moan falls from Castiel's lips. He squeezes his eyes shut against an explosion of feelings. What is happening? Castiel feels hot and cold at the same time. His skin is a mess of goosebumps and tension. A painful delight twists low in his belly. 

His pants feel tighter too. Uncomfortably so.

“Would you like me to make you feel good, sweetheart?” The demon’s words are silk. “It’s all right to ask this of me. If we succeed in this insane task, I will owe you, Castiel. Let me do this for you now.”

This decision will haunt Castiel later, he knows. He should not say yes. What good will come from aligning with a creature of sin?

Castiel feels himself nod before he considers the consequences. 

Crowley presses fingers against his cheek, forcing his head to turn. Castiel follows in wonder. Crowley’s mouth waits for him. His chin is heavy on Castiel’s shoulder, forcing him to bend. 

Castiel pictures the overpass again. Crowley’s mouth against that doomed man’s. Even as an angel, Castiel was fascinated. “It’s going down,” he muttered to Dean, to convey the gravity of the moment. 

But these words were not enough. He sees this now.

Crowley’s mouth is warmer than Castiel expected, and softer. Castiel is surprised when Crowley’s nose nudges his. He stutters back. Crowley chuckles and follows him. 

Castiel has watched so many moments like these. Kiss after kiss, body against body. Routine, tedious. So much of it the same.

Castiel never understood. Physical action is one thing, but the sensations they cause is another. He feels light-headed. Something warm sinks to his stomach, shivering and impatient.  Castiel knows what to do, but he feels like a novice. He kisses Crowley open-mouthed, waiting for something. 

Crowley’s thumb strokes a corner of Castiel’s mouth. Castiel pokes his tongue out to meet it. He is not sure why he does this.

But this instinct makes the arm around his waist tighten. Crowley’s growl curls low between their lips. 

Castiel should be horrified. Instead, he closes his eyes and tries to ignore his own groan. There is friction in the front of his pants. It makes his body weaken against the chest on his back. 

So hungry…yes, it is hunger Castiel feels. For hands. For contact.

Castiel decides that it will feel good if Crowley takes him. It will be sinful and wrong, but what does Castiel care? He has already been cast out. Doomed to whatever fate awaits a fallen angel in death. Nothing matters anymore. 

“Touch me,” Castiel says.

It is a comfort, however small, to find that he can catch Crowley off-guard. The demon pulls back enough to evaluate this request. “Touch you,” he repeats.

Castiel nods. “You would like to do this. I see it in your eyes.”

Crowley’s smirk makes Castiel aware of his own throbbing pulse. “Is that all you can see, angel?” he asks.

“Touch me.” Castiel raises a brow. “Or are you incapable?”

Crowley’s eyes darken. Perhaps, Castiel has overreached. 

The hand on Castiel's stomach suddenly slopes downward. It cups the outline of his erection through the front of his pants. Castiel gropes back for Crowley’s arms, his waist, anything to hold himself upright.

“I am more than capable, Castiel,” Crowley mutters.

A small voice inside Castiel tells him to stop. There is still time to remove himself from this perversion before it goes too far. But Castiel flounders under the weight of his loneliness. Right now, he flesh craves sin. He needs to feel everything. 

Castiel rocks his hips forward, awkward permission.

The hand on Castiel's face slides into his hair and curls to a loose fist. Castiel tips his head back. He feels the demon’s breath on his ear moments before his tongue traces the lobe. Crowley gathers it between his lips, an infuriatingly slow suckle. Castiel gasps.

The palm on the front of his pants pulls back. Crowley points a finger forward.

Castiel’s pants tear down the center. A perfect split, painless, soundless. The fabric shrivels uselessly at Castiel’s feet. 

The air of the room is jarring on Castiel’s skin. Crowley takes a long, greedy look downward. 

Castiel becomes intimately aware of the demon’s full dress, fabric against his naked body. His vulnerability makes this act even more wrong, somehow. Castiel’s chest pounds with excitement.

Castiel also looks at himself. Until now, this body has seemed foreign to him. An innocent curiosity.

In the absence of Jimmy's soul, Castiel examined this vessel in greater detail. He ran fingers down the body’s chest. Plucked at a nipple, watched it stiffen with surprise. 

He stared at this naked body in a mirror. Watched as the vessel's hands stroked its own face. Day-old stubble rasped on skin. He did not need to shave in those days, a blink cleaned his face to Jimmy's preferred, polished look.

Sometimes, Castiel let his hand wander lower. He wrapped fingers around the penis, soft in his grasp. He squeezed and worried the organ in his fist. 

It was rough like this, Castiel observed. He lathered his hand in lotion, as he had observed human males do from his Garrison post. Then, he stroked moist fingers down the cock. It thickened and blushed in his palm. 

This touch pleased the angel. But his satisfaction was only physical. There was no emotion behind it, no greater sense of need.

Now, for the first time, Castiel sees himself embodied by this vessel. It is he, Castiel, who is scarred and bruised, his open wounds exposed to the demon. His cock - Castiel’s cock - is flushed red and eager. It bobs above coarse, dark curls. His nipples are stiff as stones. His legs are tense with anticipation.

“Watch me,” Crowley says. These two words send a shudder down Castiel's spine.

Crowley wraps a hand around him. Already slick, devil magic. He starts at the base of Castiel’s cock and drags his palm to the tip. A slow, long pump that makes Castiel’s waist roll forward. His eyes threaten to sink back behind the lids.

Crowley tightens the fist in his hair. Castiel hisses, a flare stinging down his nerves. He feels affronted, disrespected. Delighted, too.

“Watch,” Crowley repeats. Castiel licks his lips, suddenly thirsty.

He absorbs the sight of Crowley pumping his cock. Squeezing the head, lazily thumbing the tip. Then scraping the slit, a delicate swipe of his nail. Castiel groans. 

He turns to mouth at Crowley’s wrist. This submission makes no sense, but Castiel is so thirsty. He needs to taste something, needs something in his mouth.

Crowley chuckles, low and wonderful. Castiel takes a deep breath of his scent, Just the smell of the demon makes his head swim with want. 

The demon releases his hair in favor of sliding a thumb over his lips. Castiel opens his mouth greedily. He lets Crowley dip the digit past his lips. Castiel sucks on it and drags his tongue over the tip.  

It is just skin, Castiel reminds himself desperately. Just the molecules that make up Crowley’s chosen vessel. 

But this does not taste like molecules. It tastes like copper, salt, and sweetness. Castiel opens his mouth wider when Crowley offers his index finger. Then, the middle finger. They hook in Castiel’s mouth like fishing lures. Castiel bites and licks them, welcoming his own snare. He bumps his nose on Crowley’s knuckles, moaning when Crowley firms his stroke. He works Castiel’s cock faster. Castiel swallows air. 

Crowley pulls his wet fingers from Castiel's mouth and drags them up his cheek. Streaks of saliva shine on Castiel's face. So amazingly wrong. Castiel’s eyes sink to blue slits, dark with hunger.

“Look at yourself, angel,” Crowley murmurs. “Look at you, wet for me.”

Castiel sees Crowley’s meaning, drops of his precum wetting his cock. Crowley smears them into his skin, sullying Castiel with his own need. Castiel shivers. The tightness in his belly knots lower. 

“Do you still think I’m incapable, love?” Crowley asks. He says this for the benefit of his own pride. Castiel is far gone, but he will not humor Crowley. He has already given this creature too much. 

Castiel only offers a twitch of his waist. He fills Crowley’s fist with a thrust. A demand for more.

Crowley chuckles. He accepts this answer, but he wants more. The demon makes this clear when he increases his pace.

“Watch, Castiel,” he says.

Castiel lowers his head. He stares as his shaft is stroked harder, faster. Too hard, too fast, pulled over his belly. 

If Crowley keeps doing this. If he keeps doing this…

“C-Crowley,” he says. The break in his voice is a shock, but not as shocking as the way his knees begin to buckle. Castiel barely hears himself over his pulse throbbing in his head. 

He grabs Crowley’s wrist. Does he mean to pull him off or urge him on?.

“Breathe,” Crowley instructs. Castiel does, but it doesn’t help. He arches, a shudder rolling down his spine. His voice comes out in a staccato exhale.

“Breathe,” Crowley says again. Castiel does and squeezes his eyes shut. 

His body jerks without warning, without permission! Something breaks inside Castiel. His vision blurs over. 

“Look, Castiel.”

Castiel glances downward blearily. Crowley’s hand is dripping white. His cock is a mess, softening, slick with cum. His chest rises and falls shakily. Scars stretch on his skin.

Castiel’s head feels heavy when he turns it. He finds the demon’s lips waiting for him, tilted in a patient smile. 

Crowley kisses a corner of his mouth, but a corner is not good enough. Castiel cranes his head back to kiss him in full. He hears Crowley’s laugh, but it is a soft amusement. The demon does not mock him. 

Crowley is unusual for a creature of the crossroads. He should taunt, he should revel. Instead, Crowley brings the hand wet with Castiel’s cum to his own lips. He makes a great show of cleaning every white stripe from his skin. Castiel watches with fascination, licking his own swollen mouth.

Crowley has barely finished when Castiel kisses him again. This time, he is the aggressor, pressing his tongue into the demon’s mouth. He tastes Crowley and something strange. His own flavor, he realizes. The flavor of this vessel.

No, not 'vessel.' This is Castiel’s body. His human body. Angel no more.

“You are an odd bird,” Crowley muses.

Crowley picks up something forgotten from the floor. Dropped bandages and salve. He motions towards the bed.

Castiel shakes his head. He stays where he is, and Crowley shrugs again.

The demon winds the bandages around his broken torso. He does so slowly, patient with every loop. Castiel stands for him even as his weariness builds. Strange, this drowsy feeling. He is content but overcome. 

When Crowley is done, bandages cross Castiel’s chest. 

“Do you dream, duck?” Crowley asks.

“No,” Castiel replies. He considers this, adding, “I tire. But my mind is still. Like death, I suppose.”

“Death,” Crowley echoes, with a bitter smile. “Yes. I experienced that once.”

Castiel nods. He forgets, sometimes. Demons were humans once. Doomed by their own sins. Warped into these evil things.

Castiel died once too, and he will die again. It is something else they have in common. 

“I would like to sleep,” Castiel says.

Crowley nods. For the first time since his arrival, he appears out of place. Crowley glances at the bedroom door.

Castiel tilts his head. “I would like you to stay.” Crowley’s eyes snap back to his face. “If you are here, you cannot endanger the Winchesters or Bobby Singer,” Castiel reasons.

Crowley snorts. “That is not why you want me to stay, Castiel.”

“No,” Castiel agrees. “It’s not.”

Crowley stares at him, momentarily speechless. This is a triumph for Castiel, however small.

The demon's silence becomes an incredulous laugh. “This is ridiculous,” Crowley mutters.

Castiel nods.  Yes, ridiculous. When the demon removes his shoes, Castiel actually feels himself smile. 

Castiel will regret this one day. He is certain of this. But he doesn’t. 

Not tonight.

*The End*

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm on [Tumblr](http://daisy4days.tumblr.com) too if you want to say hi during the Hellatus ;_;


End file.
